


Living Up To The Legend

by WorseOmens



Series: The Blossom Realm (Omens of Another Kind Universe) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dullahan Crowley, F/M, Fairy Queen Aziraphale, Fantasy Politics, Fluff, Humour, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Omens Of Another Kind, References to Sex, folklore AU, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:46:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorseOmens/pseuds/WorseOmens
Summary: Aziraphale informs Crowley that, now he’s King, he’ll need to show his face at the biggest inter-Queendom political meeting of the decade. Just a simple meeting of leaders, he said.It’ll be fun, he said...
Relationships: Adam from Eden/Eve (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Blossom Realm (Omens of Another Kind Universe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964941
Comments: 33
Kudos: 165





	Living Up To The Legend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrazyBeCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyBeCat/gifts).



> Just for clarity, this is set a few years BEFORE the epilogue at the end of the original story. Enjoy :)

"Sorry, I have to do what?"

"It only lasts a couple of days," Aziraphale said, patting Crowley's hand. "It's an important event, every decade or so. All Grand-Fae are expected to attend."

"Why?" he said sourly, slumping back in his seat. The city sprawled out under the balcony, peaceful and prosperous since Crowley had risen to the throne four years ago. The day was winding down, the summer heat letting out a long sigh as it unfurled into soft breezes and pink horizons. A drowsy Freddie had already fallen asleep on Aziraphale's chest.

"We've been the peacekeepers since the Great War, trying to ensure we don't repeat our mistakes, at least not on that scale," he said, with a self-satisfied wriggle. Freddie snuggled closer in her sleep. "It was my suggestion, actually — though everyone likes to gloss over that bit!"

He huffed. "Bloody aristocrats."

"We're aristocrats, too, dear," he said primly. 

"Whatever. I still don't see why this means _I_ have to go," he said. 

"Newly appointed kings are expected to attend the first Council of Realms after their coronation. It's only polite," he said, reaching around Freddie to pick up his teacup. "It's not technically a _rule_ , per se, but... well, you are unique among kings, dear. A legendary figure, the first Unseelie fae to marry a Seelie Queen, already renowned for your heroic exploits..."

"Alright, alright, you don't need to keep stroking my ego. I get it," he said, eager to shut him up before he started blushing. He gestured at the little fae curled up in Aziraphale's lap. "But who's going to look after Freddie? She's only three."

"Deidre has already volunteered," he said. A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face. "I don't like the idea of leaving her behind, either, but it's only for a few days. She's a resilient tot, and we can bring her back a few souvenirs."

He hummed in uncertainty. "Where is it?"

"The Baobab Realm. The oldest of the Grand-Fae live there, a very wise Queen indeed," he said. "Her name is Eve. It's a long trip there, I admit I'm often late, but it's not so bad once you arrive."

"What if the realm is attacked while we're away?" he said, thinking he surely had him beat on that count.

"It won't be. All realms have agreed on a truce during the Council Month, and any who violate that truce are punished collectively by the elders," he said. "That's myself, Lucifer, Eve, Lilith, Noah and Mephistopheles."

"Only six?"

"Six of the oldest and mightiest of all Queens, I'll have you know!" he huffed. "There were others, of course, but they've all either died or abdicated by now. Not all of them wished to rule after the war. Their children still attend the councils, though, and their realms are still considered Grand-Fae realms, since they pre-date the war."

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. "Enough history lessons, m'bored. I'll go to the stupid council meeting," he said. He didn't like the sound of Aziraphale handling all those stuck-up royals on his own; at least Freddie would be home and safe while they were away. Aziraphale beamed. 

"Oh, thank you!" 

Aziraphale was not usually excited for council meetings. Grand-Fae or not, politics was a messy game, and many Queens were still convinced that they were the most important person in the room, regardless of the company. He didn't mind the myriad of cultures at the meetings; in fact, he relished it. What he had struggled with was where all their cultures coincided: the issue of succession. He'd been single and childless for millennia, and he'd been the subject of much jeering and scoffing as a result. An Elder Fae, unwed? Ridiculous! It was only with Eve's help that he'd been able to leverage much control at all in the council. Now, at long last, he'd get to walk into the Council with his head held high. He had a King and an heir. No one could argue with that.

There were two important rules for attending the Council of Realms, as he explained to Crowley while they fed the horses, already hitched to the Cóiste Bodhar at the foot of the palace. First, only a minimal entourage may be taken. Usually, a few guards were permitted for the road, a nurse in case of emergency, a consort, and _maybe_ an heir. Secondly, and most importantly, there was to be no violence at a meeting. Anyone who broke the truce opened their realm up to a range of sanctions and punishment, depending on the severity of the crime. Crowley grumbled something about not liking these rules, and got a light smack round the ear for it. 

The preparation was almost complete when a voice pulled them from their conversation. "Daddy! Papa!" Both their heads snapped around. Freddie scampered down the palace steps, panting slightly. "Wait!"

Crowley jogged to meet her, and scooped her into his arms. "We weren't leaving without saying goodbye, flower," he said, kissing her forehead. Aziraphale followed him quickly up the stairs. She clung to Crowley's neck, sniffling. "Hey, hey, what's the matter?"

"Don't go," she mumbled. Aziraphale's face creased with guilt.

"My dear, we must," he said, wrapping an arm around Crowley and rubbing her back gently with his other hand. "We won't be gone for very long, I promise. Only a few days."

"That's like forever!" she said, sniffling, turning her head to look at him. Aziraphale smiled patiently; she was only small. Days seemed far longer to her than they did to her parents, who had several millennia under their belts already. "Can I come too?"

"I'm afraid not. It's awfully boring for little people," he said, stroking her hair. "You'll just have to keep the throne warm for me until I get back. You can do that, can't you, my dear?"

She nodded, and glanced up at Crowley. "Will you look after Papa for me, Daddy?"

It tempted a laugh from him. "Yeah, I'll keep an eye on him," he said, half-tempted to sneak her into the coach while Aziraphale wasn't looking. He didn't want to be away from his baby. He liked to know that she was only ever a short walk away. It would feel wrong, not being able to quietly check on her that night once she'd fallen sound asleep. He put on a brave face for her sake. "You've got to be good for Deidre, though, alright? Save the troublemaking for when we get home."

She giggled. "Okay," she said. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. He didn't entirely believe her. "I love you."

"We love you too, flower," Crowley said, feeling Aziraphale rest his head on his shoulder. "We'll be back together before you know it."

The Baobab Realm was overwhelming, even to Crowley. The buildings here were barely distinguishable from the landscape, carved artfully into the ground and built harmoniously into the the arching structures formed by the dry plant life. The sun blazed overhead. The climate here was drier than home, but still teeming with life. The earth underfoot was a deep, burnt orange, enriched with shades of brown and red, supporting the long grasses and age-gnarled trees. As the Cóiste Bodhar rolled down the main road, Crowley gawked at the sight of the Baobab Tree that stood at the heart of the sprawling, arid metropolis. It dwarfed even Aziraphale's Blossom Tree, with a smooth expanse of bark all the way up the thick trunk until its branches fanned out at the very top. He tugged on the reigns as they neared the vast palace, hopping down from the driver's seat to open the coach door. Aziraphale took his hand as he stepped out into the blazing sunshine. 

"You didn't tell me how big this place was," Crowley said, looking around in awe. 

"Queen Eve is almost a thousand years older than me. Of course it's big," he said, tutting as he tugged his waistcoat straight. He glanced around, spotting the flagpoles in the town square. A few banners had been raised, some that Crowley recognised. "It seems we're not the last to arrive. How unusual."

He hummed. "You should head inside. I need to find somewhere to park."

"What?" he said, stiffening a little. "I thought we'd go in together."

"I can't just leave the horses here. It's bloody hot. I'll find you once they're settled, but it could take a while," he said, and gave him a playful nudge. "Besides, Queens don't hang around in stables, right?"

"Ah. Of course," he said, a little flustered. That was, no doubt, a reference to a very particular rendezvous they'd had in the early hours of a spring morning, long before the stable-hands arrived to hear the lewd noises coming from the unused stable. He cleared his throat, coming back to the here-and-now. Crowley wouldn't be entering the council chamber by his side. Well, that was fine. He'd done this hundreds of times before. Giving him a parting peck on the cheek, he crossed the square and made for the palace doors, listening to the sound of retreating coach-wheels behind him. The guards bowed to him as he passed. 

He pushed his way into the meeting room, finding the familiar auditorium muttering with people already. Tiers of concentric circles, each level higher than the last, formed the seating arrangement; the youngest realms' queens sat on the outermost and largest circle, with the age of the Queendoms getting progressively greater down the levels. Six seats formed the central floor-level ring, each bearing a different coloured stripe down its back. These were the seats of the Original Grand-Fae; the leaders and peacemakers of the Great War. Eve spotted Aziraphale by the door almost immediately.

"Aziraphale!" she said, coming to meet him with a smile. She inclined her head. "It's been too long. Are you here alone?"

He smiled awkwardly. The other Queens — the younger and more capricious types — were already eavesdropping. "No, my husband will be here in a moment. He got held up outside, that's all," he said.

"Oh. Well, I hope he isn't kept long. We're all very eager to meet him," she said, guiding him by the elbow further into the room. She smiled warmly. "I hear it's a _love match_ between you two."

His ears turned pink at the tips. "It is," he said, his heart fluttering. Queens often put political needs above their own, so marriages for love had become rare since the early days. No doubt it had raised a few eyebrows when word got around that the Dullahan actually _loved_ the fussy, non-confrontational Queen Aziraphale. 

"And your heir?" she said, keeping her voice low to give them some privacy... insofar as that was possible, in a room full of scheming politicians. "Princess Winnifred, wasn't it?"

"Yes, she's very well, thank you. Very strong-willed," he said proudly. "Crowley dotes on her. Between you and me, I think he'd have stayed behind with her given half a chance, but I insisted he come along."

She chuckled. "What a sweetheart," she said. Though she may have found it amusing, word was spreading, and jealous mutterings spread between the queens. They had been restless ever since news of Aziraphale's marriage reached their ears. The Dullahan was a dangerous consort and, if he could be tamed, a formidable king. Somehow, it seemed that Aziraphale had managed it. He now had the numbers and the power to overrun neighbouring Queendoms while barely lifting a finger. They'd heard how King Crowley had single-handedly defeated Prince Beelzebub's army and, though the story had been heavily exaggerated by the time it became well-known, the implications held weight. It was downright frightening. 

Crowley dusted his hands off as he left the stables. The horses had a supply of water and food to keep them happy, and the coach was safely parked nearby. He half-jogged back to the Baobab Palace, panting a little; it was much hotter here than it was back home. He needed to get inside, in the shade. He liked sunbathing as much as the next snake but, if he wasn't careful, his bipedal form had a tendency to sweat and burn. That wasn't a good look for the new king on the block. He had to put on his best act, be his coolest and most suave self, and do his angel proud. It would be like walking into the Blossom Realm's court for the first time all over again, in a way. He winced at the memory, not least because a certain purple-eyed menace had featured prominently in those early days. Trying to ignore that, he made for the Baobab Palace... only to feel a hand clamp onto his shoulder as he tried to mount the steps. 

"Scuze me, sir. No civilian visitors today," said the gruff, ageing door-guard. "It's the Council of Realms. Queens and consorts only."

"Uhh," Crowley said, taking a step back. "I know. I'm a consort."

He huffed, sharing a glance with his young colleague — first day on the job, it seemed — who nervously mimicked his expression. "Really? Where's your Queen, then, sir?" he said with a thin layer of sarcasm over the top. 

"He's inside," he said, gesturing at the doors at the top of the stairs. "I said I'd follow him in after I parked the coach."

He rolled his eyes knowingly. "So you're not a consort, then. You're a coachman," he said triumphantly. "Now we're getting to the truth. Impersonating a royal consort is a crime, you know. What is it you're hoping to gain, here, or are you just stupid?"

Crowley's eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. "You wot?" he said, scrunching his nose up. "Me? Impersonating a — ? I'm _King Crowley,_ you prat. Let me in!"

The guard looked him up and down incredulously. "You? _You're_ the Headless Horseman, the fae all fae fear, the King of the Blossom Realm, the man who wooed the un-wooable Queen?" he said. He arched a brow. "Father of the first mixed-race queen? Scourge of Prince Beelzebub's armies? Fire-Wyrm of the East?"

Crowley stared back in mute confusion. "Yeah. That," he said after a moment. He'd never had so many titles.

"You don't exactly look the part."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he said, his pride a little wounded.

"S'just that you do have a head, and I don't see any red-eyed horses or spine-whips," he said, gesturing flippantly around. "Not to mention, you look like a fishbone grew legs."

"Weapons are strictly banned at the council," he said through gritted teeth. Aziraphale had told him a story of when Lucifer's late consort had brought a dagger into the chamber, and was promptly arrested despite never even drawing it. He wasn't about to risk brandishing his whip just to get in.

"Touché. I'm still not falling for it, though. You're no knight in shining armour, as far as I can see," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Unless you can get Queen Aziraphale down here to vouch for you, you're not going in."

"Maybe he would, if you'd let me speak to him," he said irritably, gesturing up the steps. He'd have tried to push past, but he'd inevitably end up starting a fight, and humiliate his whole realm. Damn this royalty lark. What was wrong with breaking some idiot's nose, so long as he had it coming?

"Listen, buddy, if it was a sapling Queen we were talking about here, maybe I'd consider it," he said, growing impatient. "But you're asking me to bother a Grand Fae with this. They don't like time-wasters, and neither do I, so jog on. If you're that desperate to see a Queen in the flesh, wait until the next one arrives."

He twitched. He’d been up close and personal — scratch that, up close and _intimate_ with a Queen more times than this guard had so much as brushed shoulders with one. He jabbed a finger at him. "You're going to regret this."

"Save it for someone who believes you," he scoffed, gesturing down the road. "The tavern's open. Some gullible sod down there might buy you a pint, if you're lucky."

Crowley let out a frustrated snarl at the sky, cursing this rotten luck, and stomped off. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just break into the Baobab Palace — or worse, start pulling ridiculous stunts in an attempt to prove himself. He'd make a complete spectacle of himself, and embarrass his husband in front of the whole council. He slumped down onto a nearby bench, glowering at the guards from across the square. Bastards. Were people really so ignorant about him? Then again, he loathed to sit still for the many hours it took to get a decent portrait done, so maybe that had something to do with it. The old Dullahan legends were hard to shake, too. People were still expecting a broad-shouldered headless giant, with his head swinging grotesquely from one fist. He slumped even further down in a sulk. He was going to be late. Aziraphale would be worrying already...

Aziraphale was, indeed, worrying. He knew the horses could be temperamental, but Crowley never usually had much trouble with them. Had something bad happened? Every new arrival that rattled the doors made his head snap round — and then made his heart sink as, time and again, it wasn't Crowley. It was starting to get pitiable. Even Eve was giving him sympathetic glances, seeing the way his hope waned more and more with each new guest. Crowley was never usually this late. Morosely, Aziraphale wondered if he really had been that reluctant to come to the council after all. Just as the disappointment set in, he felt a tug on his arm. He looked up in surprise to find a familiar Unseelie goat-queen looking back.

“Hello there Aziraphale,” chirped Mary the Loquacious. She glanced around, fiddling absent-mindedly with the end of her left horn. “Where’s that dashing king of yours? I’m stunned to see you without him! He’s usually trailing at your heels like a poor lost puppy.”

He shot her a disapproving glance. "He'll just be a moment," he told her self-consciously, hyperaware of the sneers being shot his way.

One young Queen leaned over to whisper to her neighbour. "Look! A Grand-Fae, waiting on their own consort. That is sad, if you ask me," she said. "If I were him, I’d have gotten one who knew his place — or at least one that knew how to tell the time!”

"That's a so-called _love match_ for you," replied the other contemptuously. "Not worth the trouble."

Mary scowled at them over Aziraphale's shoulder, overhearing their stage-whispers. "Don't listen to them," she said, pulling him away. "They're only jealous. Just wait until they see Crowley with their own eyes, then they'll shut up."

He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Let's hope," he said. He never thought he'd have to do this again, stand in a room full of royals alone, feeling somehow inadequate despite all his years, wealth and power. He hated it. Every decade for millennia he'd sat alone in the centre of the council, with nobody to stand beside him, support him, even just to smile with him when things went well. He hadn't felt this lonely for years. He huffed, and turned to Mary. "I think I should see where's he's got to. I'm starting to get worried."

"Ooh! An adventure, I'll come with you," she said brightly. He couldn't help but smile, offering his arm and leading her toward the doors. Her enthusiasm was a nice change of pace, at least.

He was relieved to get outside, in the fresh air away from the mocking comments. They stepped carefully down until they reached ground level, but the guardsmen didn't notice them right away. Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said. The young guard jumped, and stood to attention with a desperate glance across the steps to his older colleague, who only shrugged. "Pardon the intrusion. Queen Aziraphale, pleasure to meet you.”

“I — It’s the highest of honours, your majesty,” he stammered, bowing low. He was taken aback that Aziraphale had even bothered to introduce himself. Everyone knew who he was!

Aziraphale — whose own husband hadn’t even recognised him when they’d first met, and he was keen not to repeat that mistake again —smiled patiently. “You wouldn't happen to have noticed my consort skulking around out here, would you?"

"Erm — Couldn't say, your majesty," he said with a wince. His mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. "Could you describe him...?"

"Tall chap, black clothes," he said. “Lovely red hair.”

"Very handsome," Mary added with a grin, nudging her friend conspiratorially in the ribs. 

He tutted, rolling his eyes. "Indeed," he said with a small smile. 

The guard began to crack, instantly recalling the man they'd turned away earlier. He jabbed a finger at his colleague. "Ask my partner there, majesties," he said, skittish. "I don't know how to answer."

Aziraphale smiled kindly, thanking him, and quickly turned to the other guard. Young recruits were often nervous around royalty. The older gentleman didn't seem as concerned, greeting them with a short bow. "An honour to meet you, Queen Aziraphale," he said. He glanced at Mary and faltered, not recognising her by name, and tried to hide it. "How can I be of service?"

"I'm looking for my husband," he said. "I fear he might've gotten lost. Have you seen him pass this way?"

"No, sire, though we've not long since turned away an impostor claiming to be King Crowley," he said, making a dismissive gesture of the hand. "Some scrawny good-for-nothing hoping to rub shoulders with royalty before someone noticed, I should think. Nothing to worry about."

Aziraphale and Mary shared a sceptical glance. "And this so-called good-for-nothing, what did he look like?" Mary asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing special, y'majesty. Not half the descriptions I've heard of your noble King, sire," he said, looking at Aziraphale, who raised his eyebrows sceptically. "Thin, a bit waspish, red hair and dark glasses."

Aziraphale sighed. "And where has this... _impostor_ gotten himself to now, hm?" he said, recognising the description of his husband anywhere. The old myths of the Dullahan still hadn't faded, even these days. The guard had probably been expecting a heavy-set, seven-foot monster of a man carrying his head in the crook of his arm. Honestly! As if Aziraphale would go to bed with a man who, quite literally, couldn’t even look him in the eye (not that he’d especially _want_ a severed head sat on the pillow next to him anyway...)

"I'm not sure, y'majesty, but — oh. Speak of the devil," he said, rolling his eyes. A dark figure was barrelling through the crowds, crowing Aziraphale's name. "Let me handle this, please, sire. I'll get rid of him."

Aziraphale held up a hand. The guard faltered, surprised to see him drop Mary's arm and go to meet the stranger. Crowley skidded to a halt on the dusty cobbles, grasping his husband by the shoulders. "Angel! I'm sorry, am I late? I couldn't get in," he said, shooting a fierce glare at the older guard, who was now looking decidedly paler. "Some idiot decided I wasn't big and scary enough to be me."

"The meeting hasn't begun, don't fret," he said, frazzled but relieved as he laid his hand over the top of Crowley’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. He allowed himself a small chuckle, and leaned up to give him a peck on the lips. "And for what it's worth, I think you're very big and scary."

"Psh, you're just saying that," he said with a rose-pink blush.

"Oh, no. You're positively terrifying, my dear," he said, giving him a light pat on the cheek. "Now come along, before Mary rips lumps off this poor guard."

He glanced over, seeing the goat-queen in question already giving the guard a vicious tongue-lashing for barring Crowley from the council. "Can't we just leave her to it?" he said, raising his eyebrows, impressed. The solider ducked his head, staring at his feet as Mary hurled barbed words at him with no sign of stopping. 

"Sadly not," he said, leading him closer. The guard cringed as they drew near, and Mary went quiet.

"Deepest apologies, King Crowley," he said, voice shaking as he bowed low. "I beg your forgiveness. I meant no offence, pl — please believe me..."

Crowley scoffed. "I'd have respected you more if you didn't crumble so fast," he said. “So. I don’t live up to the legend, do I?”

“Forgot my manners. I’m sorry, sire,” he said, shrinking further and further away until he almost tripped over a step. 

Crowley rolled his eyes, and tugged Aziraphale along slightly, toward the doors. "C'mon, angel. He’s wasted enough of our time,” he said. “Places to go, people to see."

Eve didn't even have to turn around to know that Aziraphale's husband had finally arrived. The room fell eerily silent for a moment, before reigniting into a flood of murmuring and whispers. She turned, beckoning her husband along with her as she wove through the crowds toward them. "Is this who I think it is, Aziraphale?" she asked with a broad smile, looking at the red-head on his arm.

"It is. Crowley, this is Eve — our host, and head of the Council of Realms — and her husband Adam," he said, gesturing to them in turn. Crowley gave an awkward nod and muttered a few pleasantries. "You'll never guess what held him up all this time! The door-guard didn't believe who he was."

Adam scowled. "Our apologies for the disrespect," he said to Crowley. He'd always struck Aziraphale as a very serious man, no matter how many times Eve told him how funny he was in private. 

Crowley waved a hand. "S'alright. Worse has happened," he said with an idle shrug, glancing around the babbling hall. "Mary's already given him a right telling-off. He's learnt his lesson."

Eve nodded approvingly. Good; he was forgiving. She'd have hated for Aziraphale to marry anyone petty. "All's well, then," she said. She shot a few furtive glances from side to side. "Now you're both here, I was wondering if we might confer in private before the council begins."

"Um... I suppose," Aziraphale said, bemused. She'd never asked that before. Crowley shot him a side-glance, wondering if he'd somehow gotten himself in trouble already, and was relieved to find that Aziraphale looked just as surprised.

Eve led the way out of the hall, ducking through a side-door and walking down a corridor and into a small sitting room. Aziraphale and Crowley settled themselves on the loveseat, looking expectantly at the other royal couple over the squat coffee table. The room was homely, dressed in a riot of colour on the cushions and hanging tapestries, giving the space a lively and warm feel. Eve took a deep breath. Adam took her hand, squeezing it lightly. "I realise this is unusual, but I'm afraid it can't wait," she said. "I wanted to tell you that, within the next few decades, I plan to step down as Queen."

Aziraphale gasped, grasping Crowley's knee in shock. "Heavens!" he said, knocked senseless for a moment. Crowley blinked. Oh. He'd barely been here five minutes, and already the oldest Grand-Fae was abdicating? Typical.

"I'm sorry to spring this on you so suddenly, and so soon after your marriage..." she said, looking down at her lap. "But, at long last, Seth is ready to take my throne."

Aziraphale cleared his throat and nodded, smoothing down his shock. "Of course. A fine young man he is, too," he said, though Seth was technically a Grand-Fae as well. He'd been a baby during the Great War, and was actually Eve's third-born; she'd lost her two eldest sons long ago in a vicious blood-feud. She was lucky to have survived such a tragedy. The heartbreak would’ve killed her, if not for the glimmer of hope and love she found in her youngest and only remaining child. "I wish you both a very happy retirement."

"Thank you," Adam said, inclining his head. "But that's not all."

Crowley braced himself for the catch. "What else?"

"I have a proposal for you," Eve said, then paused, gauging his response. Aziraphale remained apprehensive. "I'd like to name you as the new head of the Council of Realms, once I retire."

Aziraphale visibly flinched. Crowley's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Oh, what a sense of humour you have," Aziraphale said eventually with a nervous chuckle. "You can't be serious."

"I am," she insisted, with a glance at Adam, who nodded encouragingly. "You're the next oldest after me. You have an heir, and a king. You believe in peace. There's no-one I'd rather have succeed me."

"Hang on, what does this all mean?" Crowley said, feeling out-of-the-loop.

"Being head of the Council of Realms is a rather weighty responsibility," Aziraphale said uneasily, subconsciously leaning into Crowley's side as he mulled it over. "The head has the power to call the realms to arms, to punish wrongdoing, and veto any motion at the council. It requires intelligence, and — and objectivity, and selflessness... and a great many other things..."

"So you'd be like a mega-Queen?" Crowley surmised. Eve chuckled under her breath.

"After a fashion," he said skittishly. "There are rules, of course, and various checks and balances, but..."

"The head of the Council is the most powerful of us all," Eve interrupted smoothly. "Aziraphale. You are the only one I trust with that power."

"What about your boy? Seth?" Crowley said with a frown.

She winced, and hung her head. "I fear what power does to my sons," she said with a deep sigh. Aziraphale bowed his head in respect, knowing what she meant. Her two eldest sons' feud had broken out over the succession to the throne, worsened by the ongoing war, until both perished because of it. She'd been afraid of history repeating itself ever since. "I trust that you won't repeat my mistakes, Aziraphale. Your bloodline will be better suited to the role than my own."

Aziraphale thought of his daughter at home, probably painting pictures for the wall, or scouring the library for new picture-books to read. She was born to rule. To think that she'd not only take the throne one day, but take control of the Council of Realms, too, well... It was almost too much to imagine. But if he refused, what then? The title could go to another of the Grand-Fae and, while he respected them, he didn't always trust them not to undermine other realms for their own sakes. He knew what Eve meant. If he wanted to ensure his daughter inherited a fair and safe world, he'd have to make it that way himself. He shared a glance with Crowley. 

"Your call, angel," he said softly, seeing the question in his eyes. "I'm with you, whatever you pick."

He smiled, and took a deep breath. "It would be an honour to succeed you, Eve," he said. "I accept."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks to you all, for a start, for sticking around to read (and hopefully to comment) on this little spin-off work! There are more snippets and bits of OOAK content in the works, so keep an eye out for those, though I have no clue when I’ll be ready to post them. Watch this space! I’ll be waiting with open arms to welcome you back, once it’s all written and ready to go <3


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